The Dark Half of the Sun (The Young Ancients: Timon) Page 35

  He didn't go anywhere really, just straight up into the air, hovering, his right hand still on the control knob. It took a bit of care to work the communications device out and a little bit of thought to figure out who it was he wanted. After a few seconds he realized that it would be the second non-named sigil. The first would be one Tor used, knowing it was possible, the second, that would be for someone the King and Queen figured they'd need to talk to pretty regularly. Someone that was important to the Kingdom, but who needed to be mobile.

  There were several people it could have been, but most of those had their names printed in lights above the single black line marked on the device. It was kind of telling from what he'd seen of her. She always wore black when she could.

  He hit the sigil and waited. She might not answer, since his sigil wouldn't be one she knew about, unless the King told her that it was him for a reason. That was just possible. His new service was useful to spies after all.

  Finally she spoke, the voice unfamiliar and younger sounding than he remembered it from years past. For a few seconds he froze, not certain it was the right person at all.

  "Patricia Morgan?"

  "Um, yes. Who is this?"

  "Timon Baker. We need to meet." His voice sounded calm and certain, rather older than it had even a week before. It was her turn to hesitate then.

  "Sorry, I'm not certain which one of you that is..."

  Fair enough, there were eleven of them in all and all their names started with the same letter.

  "Weasel."

  "Weasel? Is he... Tor is..."

  "No word, this is about something very different. Can we meet?" If not he'd have to figure out something else, but it would take more time.

  After a time that was far longer than he liked, there was a sigh. "We can. I'm not in a perfect situation for it. I'm in a little town called Bartok. It's about eighty miles outside of Galasia. Kind of hard to find..."

  He didn't sigh or roll his eyes. If she thought about it she'd figure out that he could find it. Former delivery agent after all.

  "I'll be there in an hour. Where do you want to meet, by the central square?"

  They decided on the main tavern for some reason. That would be fine. They could leave from there to talk after all.

  "I'll be there directly."

  Chapter thirteen

  It was a strange property of the healing amulets that his brother had made, that once used they both took a lot of personal energy, depending on how much was needed to be healed, and left a person feeling awake and refreshed at the same time. At the moment, as he flew through the air to the southwest, it meant that Timon felt fine.

  Also like he should die.

  There was nothing left inside him. He'd never realized it before, but all life needed at least a bit of... something, to make it happen. A spark of hope, a glimmer of energy to get you through to the next thing that made life seem like it had a reason. In that moment he knew that had been taken from him in that damn dungeon. Nora Alan had taken a lot more from him than the evil bitch could have known she was doing. She'd tried to strip him of hope, and of innocence. She intended for that to end with his life being gone, but what she managed to do was leave an empty husk that just looked like him.

  He shook and had to land well away from the little town, his hand refusing to allow him to just fly in as he intended. He settled in the woods and put the Fast Craft away, the silver mirrored square seeming overdone and garish suddenly. The scent of the fresh air was cloying, like pine and dirt, sticking to the inside of his nose. It had rained not too long before, and everything was a little wet.

  There was no reason why he did it, not in particular, but he carefully took down his trousers and looked at the bandages that had been left there by the Larval. That black eyed demon that had made him hurt more than was possible. It was mainly red and brown, sticking to the thin new hair that had grown there, pulling at times, reminding him of what had happened. He moved carefully, not wanting more pain, but needed the thing to be off. A sudden fear took him, wondering what ruin was left underneath it.

  It took a long time, his fingers made clumsy by fear, the bandages having to be unwrapped, not having a knife. Not that he could have used one so close to himself right now. Just thinking about it made him shake harder, sobbing. No tears ran down his face at least. Why that was, Tim couldn't say. It just didn't happen.

  The hair being ripped out hurt, until he made his mind go away, becoming empty again, like he had on that table. Finally he could see it, what was left of him down there. It was perfectly normal. That was both a relief and hard to believe. He kept expecting it to burst open and bleed. That got attention focused on his legs, which went weak, feeling like he couldn't hold himself up suddenly. They'd been off and now they were back on. Healed by the people in the room that had saved him.

  Too late.

  He'd been ruined already in that room, and couldn't just go back to being what he was now. There was no way. The only thing making it bearable at all was his empty mind and not thinking about it. Pretending it hadn't been something that happened to him. It was though and he couldn't stop it. It was in his head. A corruption.

  It occurred to him then that Petra Ward had done better than this. She'd endured more and had seemed so strong afterwards, doing what she had to, instead of feeling sorry for herself. She was older than he was, but that didn't matter. It was his turn to be strong now. Somehow.

  Fixing his clothing he transformed it into a green and brown silk and leather outfit, with tan boots and a small Two Bends delivery badge. Then he dug out his flying rig, the thing comfortable on his hand, resting on the back, a copper plate with a worn acid etched bird on it. The leather thong was a little tight, but he didn't care, since that meant it wouldn't slip by accident. He tapped it by habit and took off, flying toward Bartok as fast as he could that way, the ground seeming to crawl under him, thousands of feet below. It took about fifteen minutes to get there and when he landed in the mud pit they claimed to be a square, he made a bit of a stir. It was a small place, but even people there had gotten deliveries from time to time, so they knew what it meant. He walked straight to the tavern, dodging pigs and a single goat on the way.

  Why they were meeting in a place like that, Tim didn't know. It was a shack made of loose and gapping boards, the cracks stuffed with mud and straw, but without the care and elegance that could have made it nice. Galasia had mud walls, but did it right, making it a thing of beauty. These people didn't even bother adding the few feet of roof to the sides that would make it a permanent structure. Inside, it smelled, mainly of alcohol and the desperate stink of broken dreams.

  That last bit, he realized, while probably true, might also just be due to the fact that half the people in the place didn't wash too regularly. Finding a table he sat and waited, not knowing what Trice would be up to, or if she'd really show at all. It hadn't taken him a long time to work out who she really was in the whole scheme of things, or part of it at least, so it wouldn't shock him to find out that she might not feel free to meet with a boy that called out of the blue.

  The serving woman that came was a short woman with light hair and missing a tooth in the front. She smiled at him anyway, her chest going out just a little bit, the shirt she wore didn't have shoulders on it and the top of her breasts showed. He started to cringe at the sight, then forced a smile.

  Nora had done that to him, and she'd meant to, hadn't she? In her... insanity, she'd made women seem bad to him in that way. That couldn't be left to stand. If he didn't fight against that, she won, even after he killed her.

  "Hello sweetie. Can I get you anything?" Her voice was polite and slightly bored sounding, for all that she was staring at him as if he might be something good to eat. It seemed predatory, but, he realized, she wasn't trying to do anything more than get an extra tip from him.

  "Something to drink that isn't horrible and won't leave me too drunk to fly. Please." He worked out a silver and handed it to her,
watching her eyes go wide. Probably because it was a lot to hand to a person you didn't know in a place like this.

  "Yes, sir." There was a sly look to her face then, which either meant she was planning to rob him of his change or figured that he was trying to get her into bed. Timon didn't really care what she thought, he just waited. When she came back the woman tried to give him eight coppers back, a wooden pitcher of soft cider sitting next to two cups. He hadn't asked for that, but it was fine, since he really was expecting someone. She obviously got that.

  "Keep the rest of it." Once that would have been him playing at being the big man, but now he just didn't care at all. The woman held the coins, which would probably be nearly what she made in a week and then tried to hand them back again. "Are you certain sure, I don't want to trouble you..."

  He looked at the woman, who couldn't be more than a few years older than he was, he realized, her face plain and lightly freckled. For a second he felt horrible for her, being made to work in a place like this and nearly just dumped every remaining coin he had with him on her, telling her to run away and make a better life for herself. Then he realized it didn't matter. She had the best life that she could get for herself right now and no amount of gold and silver would really change it.

  "It's fine, you keep that." He poured a half glass of the juice and waited, just in case Trice actually decided to show.

  He was there for nearly two hours before she walked in, her clothing plain looking enough, like a minor merchant, using ribbons to pretend she was a fine lady, her top decorated with them in six different colors. At first he couldn't tell if they were real or not, but after a bit he could see that she had the bulge of amulets around her neck, like he did. The clothing was magical, so that meant she wasn't trying to really impress anyone, just make it seem like she was.

  The tall woman, who was only about six-four, thankfully, settled across from him, her eyes on him as if trying to communicate something with him in particular.

  "You have a message for me?"

  That would make sense, him being a messenger, as far as his clothing went, but he didn't have anything prepared. She clearly didn't want to be recognized as herself, he didn't think, so he hesitated. The door behind them opened again, and a voice rang out.

  "Patty! There you are, I thought I saw you come in here. We don't really have coin for..." The voice was piping and high pitched, slightly nasal. When Timon turned to look he noticed that the form was also small and slightly bent on the right side. A dwarf with a hunch. The face wasn't clear to him until the door behind him closed, and even then Tim wouldn't have seen him very clearly in the dim space. Not until he came over to the table, looking a little scared.

  Of him.

  The man took in the fine clothing of his uniform, and glanced down at his own, which wasn't horrible, but had the look of someone that had decent things, but only one or two outfits. A few food stains could be seen, even though it was clear that the fellow was clean and reasonably tidy. His nose was like a potato, true, but the hair was brushed and the skin free of dirt.

  Trice winced and closed her eyes, swallowing hard. It was as if something inside her broke then, for a moment, though that really could have been his imagination. The dwarf was smaller than he was by a half head, so it wasn't his brother in disguise or anything like that.

  Looking around she spoke in a low voice.

  "Surely you recognize your brother? Weasel." There was a pause as if she expected it to all fall apart on her. Like the universe was going to fall in.

  That looked to be the case for a few seconds as the little man stiffened and looked ready to run, at least until he started to try and fight to get something out of his pocket. Trice held out her right hand, trying to stop the man.

  For his part Timon just shrugged.

  "I took your advice Tor and went back to using my given name of Timon for professional reasons. Weasel sounds like a little kid trying to act tough. Mother wants me to send her love if I see you. Here, have a seat." He raised his hand and gestured at the server, who smiled at him, even with his strange new friends. "Another soft cider please? An extra cup for my brother too."

  The small form froze, his panicked face trained on the woman instead of him, looking betrayed for some reason. Then he sat, looking so miserable that Tim felt sorry for him. That made sense. It was a crime to impersonate a noble. One that normally ended in death. If Trice said they were brothers though, there was a reason. What that was he didn't know yet. Honestly he didn't care either.

  There was a low moan then.

  "I'm all done, aren't I?" He shook his head slowly, making a disgusted face. "Patty, I'm not the Wizard Tor, not the Troll of Galasia or anything I said I was. I just found that chest of stuff on the side of the road and used it to do those things. There was that girl, and no one else would help her, so I lied and said that I was important so that I could get help for her. People heard me, not just the bandits, so I couldn't just tell the truth."

  There was a long shuttering breath as the man shook his head.

  "No, it was worse than that. I didn't want to tell the truth, because for once in my life I was someone important. Now everyone will find out... I suppose you'll hate me now too. I'm sorry Patty. I wanted to be your friend. I've... No pretty girls have ever talked to me before. I'll leave..." He got up to do that, but Trice put her hand on his arm.

  "I already knew all that Gerent. This however, really is Timon Baker, and if he says you're his brother, I doubt that anyone will doubt you overly. Isn't that right?" She nodded helpfully, so that he'd know how to answer it seemed. It was too obvious, but he shrugged.

  The little man looked confused, then scared again. Finally he shook his head.

  "No, I can't do this anymore. And going around telling people that you're Ducharina Morgan... We can get in real trouble for it. I might swing for it, but I can't let you. I..." It was so plain that he was about to say he loved her that even the serving girl noticed it as she settled the new pitcher on the table. Timon gave her another silver and made himself smile at her again.

  "Patty... I..."

  The man didn't finish the words. It was awkward enough that Timon felt a sense of relief about that too, though Trice looked pleased that he'd gotten that close.

  He shook his head and poured the fake Tor a tumbler of juice and then one for Trice. After that he looked around and rubbed at his face, which reminded him for some reason of a giant Larval assassins face hovering over his own, which got him to wince, hard. Trice noticed and her demeanor changed, looking slightly angry for a second.

  "Timon, this isn't-" She started to speak, but he stood and started to leave, feeling like the whole thing was a mistake. She clearly had something going on here and he didn't want to get in the way.

  Then he stopped. His weakness couldn't keep him from doing what he had to. He couldn't give in now.

  "Tor... Patty and I need to talk about something. Alone. She'll be back in a bit, I'm sure. I'll tell everyone you send your love." He waved at the tall, curly haired woman and walked out, not really caring if she followed or not. Then he walked toward the woods on the edge of town. It took a while, since it was in a clearing, but when he turned around she was standing there, looking at him. Her face dark.

  "This isn't what it seems." She was tense and staring at him as if he'd made an accusation.

  "You mean you aren't using some hapless man who's never had anything worth having before, that lucked into a few left over amulets and has a bit of a big mouth, to try and draw out Larval assassins so you can kill them before they find Tor? What are you really doing then?" He stopped and shook his head, but the woman sighed.

  "Alright, I am doing that. I meant that I wasn't trying to steal Tor's life. He told me to help Gerent, before he left. He really is a good person. He fought a gang of bandits to get back a little girl stolen from a pig farmer. By himself. Then he sold some of the stuff he found to make sure she'd be taken care of well. You have to admit, it's
exactly like what Tor would have done in the same situation. Well, he'd probably have done a better job of fighting, but we can leave the comedic parts out of the story. The point is it was damned selfless and heroic."

  Tim nodded.

  "Fine, I'll back Gerent's story then, if anyone asks. There's a plot to overthrow the Royal family, the Larval are aiding the nobles doing it. Petra Ward was taken and tortured by Count Rodriguez. We got her back and hid her. The King has asked that Count Ward not go to war yet, to hide the fact that she's alive. I need to have information about him. I'm going to kill him." He didn't have to explain which one he was going to kill at least.

  "But the King said..." She looked away, arms crossed in the chill air.

  "The King can go and fuck himself. If you take my friends, and try to kill my brother, I'm going to take your life. These nobles are escalating, the Larvals helping them. Countess Alan... She and a Larval..." It was too hard to say the words, too embarrassing and scary. He had to though. He needed information and he couldn't afford to let those two make him weak. "Trice, they took me. The Countess invited me to dinner, then used a special drug to get past the poison detector. Not that I even used mine, moron that I am. I was told that later. They tortured me for three days. I nearly died." He sobbed a bit, but didn't cry. He couldn't.

  "Oh Timon!" She moved to hold him, to make it better somehow, but his shield kicked on, his subconscious mind viewing the approach as a possible attack. It stung her enough she moved back and gasped, eyes going wide.

  "It wasn't just name calling that they did. I can't talk about it yet, but I can find that bastard Rodriguez and make him pay. Will you help me or not?" There was a coldness to his words that hadn't been there before. He didn't want to seem demanding, but there wasn't time to play around. If they didn't send a message soon, more people would be taken.

  "Why Rodriguez? Shouldn't you go after Countess Alan? It will be expensive to have it done, but I... might be able to have them killed."